


The Christmas Letter

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories II [25]
Category: E.R., X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, once more into the breach…a sweet little Christmas story with John Carter and Walter Skinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Letter

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately.
> 
> SPECIAL NOTES: Krycek returns soon to wreak havoc on John and Walter's life—I promise. Besides which, I've gotten addicted to the snarky little creep. Until then, happy holidays to everyone.

Muzak Christmas carols were haunting Walter. He couldn't escape them, even in his own office. Some idiot (probably Mulder) had hidden one of those damned caroling cards behind the couch. It had played for close to thirty minutes before Walter finally found it and smashed the tiny speaker with a paperweight on his desk.

He'd been embarrassed as hell when Kim came running in to see if he'd fallen when she heard the crash. The heat returned to his face just thinking about the twitching at the corner of her mouth as she'd tried not to smile. He probably had looked a little maniacal standing there with the destroyed card in one hand and his paperweight in the other.

Now, standing in the elevator on the way up to his apartment, he couldn't get fucking Jingle Bells out of his head.

His apartment was cold. It had been unseasonably warm in D.C., so this morning he'd turned off the heat. With nightfall it had gotten cool. He dropped his coat and briefcase on the couch and sorted through the mail. Christmas cards from distant family and acquaintances he barely remembered went in one hand, bills and junk mail in the other. The bills and junk mail he set on the coffee table.

He sat down on the couch, mindlessly picking up the remote and clicking on the television as he scanned the return address on the top card. A cousin he hadn't seen in at least fifteen years. He dropped the card onto the table and looked at the next one. It was from a couple he'd known when he and Sharon were married. That card made little sound as it landed on the table, too.

The next card was from a fellow Fibbie. He sat back and opened it. There was a brief handwritten note from the man's wife, which was nice. Beat all to hell those generic Christmas letters that came in most cards these days.

He set the card next to him on the couch and looked at the last envelope. No return address, but the postmark was Chicago. For a moment Walter wondered if he should think about this one before he opened it. Then he laughed at himself. Fucking wuss.

He tore the envelope open and found a card and a computer printed letter, complete with Christmas decorations on the borders. Walter groaned and looked at the signature on the card.

Santa.

What?

The front of the card was a generic Christmas scene. Inside the card the brief message, "Hope your holidays are bright!" and then the blue ink signature 'Santa.'

Okay-fine, Walter thought. Someone thought they were cute. He looked at the form letter.

'Dear Friends and Family,

Once again we find ourselves with another year gone and our heads spinning from all that's happened during the year.

Daddy's dot.com went broke early in the year, throwing him out of work and destroying any hopes we had of ever having a comfortable life. We lost the house, both cars, but managed to keep the gym memberships. We find that staying in shape is a good idea when you're living on the street.

Mom dived into a bottle of vodka the day Daddy went broke, and hasn't come up for air since. Fortunately her addiction to pain killers has ended, along with our health insurance coverage, so we don't have to worry about her mixing barbiturates and alcohol.

Without access to a television, Junior gave up video games and took up masturbation. We're actually encouraged to find out that he has an imagination, so we found him his own cardboard box and let him have at it.

Sis surprised us all by having herself declared emancipated. Turns out she'd been accepted to Yale and had a summer job with a law firm in New York.

It just goes to show you that you never know with the quiet ones. All this time we'd just thought she stayed in her room because she was shy. We never thought she might be studying!

We look forward to the coming year because with Sis's acceptance at Yale, we think we can convince a sperm bank to buy Daddy and Junior's output. God knows, with Junior's alone we could probably buy back the house.

Best to you for the new year,

Daddy, Mom, Junior, and Sis'

"What the hell…"

Muzak Jingle Bells started playing.

Walter's head snapped up from the letter. He tossed the letter onto the coffee table and got up. He moved around the room slowly, trying to hear in which direction the sound got louder or softer.

It was louder towards the stairs.

"Son of a bitch…" Walter headed up the steps, swearing under his breath. If that fucking Mulder had gotten into his apartment and hidden another one of those fucking cards, there was going to be fucking hell to pay.

Walter's bedroom door was partially open, and the music, if it could be called that, was definitely coming from inside that room. Slowly he pushed the door open. The lamp at the bedside was on, and when the door swung fully open, Walter could see the card lying open on the floor just inside. It was identical to the one he'd destroyed in his office earlier.

"Son of a bitch…"

"Am I hearing bad words on Christmas Eve?"

Walter looked up and saw Santa Claus stretched out on his bed. He did a double take worthy of The Three Stooges. Yes, Santa Claus, or someone dressed like him, was lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard.

"Would you like to be a naughty boy?"

Walter snorted. "You."

"Santa's got a present for you."

Walter folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, he does, does he?"

"Un-huh. Right here in his pants."

Walter shook his head. "John Carter, you are going to be the death of me, yet."

"Did you get my card?"

"I should have known."

John Carter crooked a finger at Walter. "Come here."

"I've been blaming Mulder for Jingle Bells all day."

John Carter sat up and patted his lap. "You sit right here on Santa's lap and let me show you some real jingle bells."

Walter groaned.

The card kept playing.

"So you're going to jingle my bells, huh?"

"Un-huh."

Walter stomped the card with the heel of his shoe. The music stopped.

"I'll show you jingle bells."

Walter dove for John Carter who rolled away from him and got off the bed on the other side. "Walter, come on, you don't want to hurt Santa."

Walter stalked John, moving across the bed on his knees. "Who said anything about hurting Santa?"

John made a start to run around the end of the bed, but Walter grabbed the sleeve of his costume and pulled him up short. Walter pulled John onto the bed, quickly shoving one hand down the front of John's pants. "Oh! There's my present."

"Oh, shit," John Carter yelped.

"You did say this was mine, didn't you?" Walter asked, feigning innocence.

John Carter laughed, then moaned as Walter fondled him.

"I like this present, Santa," Walter whispered against John Carter's ear. "Do I have to wait until tomorrow morning to unwrap it?"

"Nu-huh." John began pulling at the costume to get it off.

Walter held onto his gift and let John do the unwrapping


End file.
